


Strongest at the Broken Places

by missbeizy



Category: Glee
Genre: Anal Sex, M/M, Rimming, Switching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-28
Updated: 2015-02-28
Packaged: 2018-03-15 15:37:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3452543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missbeizy/pseuds/missbeizy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-running-to-Blaine's apartment reunion sex/talk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Strongest at the Broken Places

The lease on the apartment is up in two days. 

Blaine has put off moving the boxes that are his, not because he doesn’t care, but because he can’t bring himself to put his hands to them, to the packing tape and bubble wrap, can’t think about possibly coming across something that Dave had left behind. 

He feels fragile, strange and weak at his joints since kissing Kurt, since realizing that he hasn’t moved on, not in the slightest. He doesn’t regret things ending with Dave—thinks that he misses him more as a friend than anything else, though the sex had been great—but seeing Kurt with Walter had taken the wind of that day out of his sails, and he feels lost. Brittany and Santana’s wedding has only thrown into sharp relief how close and yet how far away he is from the fantasy wedding that he’d imagined he and Kurt would have.

And then there’s a knock at the door.

At first, he’s sure that it’s just another wedding “emergency”; more or less everyone involved in the setup of the event has come to him for advice but Kurt most often, calling and texting at odd hours about lighting or floral arrangements or tablecloths or hay bales, and Blaine is ready with witty barn animal jokes or whatever he might need to get Kurt to calm down.

But then Kurt is touching him, and Blaine would know that look in a crowded room at fifty paces—Kurt has cracked, is letting it all bleed to the surface, is _present_ , emotionally and physically and probably in several other ways that science has yet to quantify. 

Kurt’s hands are on his arms. Kurt’s eyes are glazed with tears. 

It’s almost comical—Blaine has imagined this scenario many times in the last few days, but it’s always featured him finally working up the courage to say any one of a dozen variations of _don’t be with him, be with me_ , _I forgive you and I love you and that’s enough for me and maybe it always has been_. But now it’s happening, and Kurt is asking him _will you go to the wedding with me_. He says _I love you_ and asks if there is anyone else and it’s a joke, because of course there isn’t, there never has been, from Jeremiah to Dave there has never, ever been a moment when Kurt wasn’t it for Blaine. 

The relief that he feels when Kurt says what he’s been trying to work up the courage to say is so immediate, so overwhelming, that he’s grabbing Kurt before he can think about whether they should or not. It’s not even a question, really. They should. They always should. This is what they are to each other.

They kiss, and it’s nothing like the elevator or outside of Rachel’s house. It’s hungry and unbridled and mutual and free, it’s like coming home, it’s the rest of his life in the form of sweet lips and big, strong arms around him, and when Kurt eagerly and assuredly guides his arms down, one after the other, he slides them around Kurt’s waist and up his back, feeling a feedback loop of pleasure and contentment hum between them.

Kurt wants—needs—to be held. He needs Blaine just so, right there, holding him, needs to feel his biceps go hard with effort when he squeezes, needs to feel the flex of his back, needs to know that he’s there, that there really is no one keeping them apart.

The space between Blaine’s ears goes fuzzy. 

It’s taken him the whole duration of this kiss to even catch up with what’s happening—Kurt isn’t with Walter and he isn’t with Dave and Kurt loves him and Kurt is _trembling_ and still kind of panicking, he can feel it in the hitch of his chest and see it in the rosy flush that’s creeping down into the collar of his shirt. He’d worked himself up the whole way here and he’s still kind of freaking out and everything that Blaine has inside of him wants to _fix it_ , wants to make Kurt smile and breathe evenly and touch him like the world isn’t ending because the opposite is true—it’s beginning all over again.

When they break apart he laces his fingers along Kurt’s spine, smoothing them up and down, up and down, and that’s enough to make Kurt’s mouth go soft but little else.

Blaine can’t remember the last time he’d felt this sure, this calm, this focused on something—he knows exactly what he wants, what Kurt needs. Memories that he’s tried to put away come rushing back, flooding his mind and body. 

He locks his arms up and underneath Kurt’s underarms and hoists him up—Kurt lets out a soft _oh_ of surprise and locks his legs around Blaine’s waist. It’s only a short walk to the bed, where he stops long enough to savor the aroused, impressed look on Kurt’s face before Kurt tumbles backwards onto the bed. Kurt sprawls across it horizontally, breathing rapidly, his face pink and his eyes wide.

Blaine reaches up and undoes his bow tie. Kurt’s eyes follow the motion, and he licks his bottom lip quickly, the flush on his cheeks darkening. Blaine goes slower, peeling the cloth from his collar with deliberation. Kurt breathes out audibly. God, he’s so turned on, so _desperate_.

Blaine kneels on the edge of the bed, bends over Kurt’s long body, and kisses him, open-mouthed and wet. Kurt whimpers and bends, digging his fingers into Blaine’s hair. Blaine runs his hands down Kurt’s sides and thighs, cups his ass and drags him closer.

Kurt makes a high-pitched noise. Blaine’s brain fizzles. Why is Kurt wearing layers? This is a travesty.

He reaches down and undoes Kurt’s belt, his lips at Kurt’s ear. “Turn over,” he rasps, wiggling his fingertips in between the waistband of Kurt’s pants and his skin. “Turn over.” Kurt moans as he wriggles onto his belly. Blaine drags his too-tight pants down, whimpering when it doesn’t happen _fast enough_ , Kurt’s skin is just not being exposed fast enough, and then Kurt lifts up and shimmies and his pants and underwear roll down below his cheeks in one quick tug and Blaine loses his cool then and there and bends to kiss each plump rise.

“Oh my god,” Kurt says, strangled, “are you going to just…? I’m sweaty, I ran all the way here, Blaine…”

“Don’t care,” Blaine says, kissing, kissing, kissing, “god, I don’t care, missed you so much, want to make you feel good.” He sucks kisses down the crack of Kurt’s ass, panting, until he can’t take it anymore and he licks a lush circle around Kurt’s rim. The half-stifled cry that breaks in Kurt’s throat makes his cock throb and he inhales through his nose, sets his chin, and mouths and licks and sucks until Kurt is face-planted in the mattress with his ass just off the bed, begging in little jerky backward presses.

When he stops to breathe, Kurt gasps out, “Are you clean? I mean, would—going bare be an issue? Because I want you inside of me like that.” He hesitates, and then his voice comes again, shaky and desperate the way that it was when he’d said _I’m not okay_. “I need you like that again. Please.”

“I am, and...I assume you are?”

“Yeah.”

Blaine shudders, hooking his thumbs low on Kurt’s cheeks to spread them, to stare at the spit-slick mess all over that white and pink skin, at that twitching pucker that he has jerked off thinking about for months. But it isn’t just about that—it’s about being let back in, and about allowing himself to want to be let back in with no regrets, grudges, or hesitation. It’s about loving this man with every sticky naked inch of his body and soul until there’s nothing left but an unshakable conviction that this is it, this is as good as it gets, as good as it can ever be between two people, and that they’d be fools to walk away now or ever.

“Second,” Blaine says, and goes to get lubricant.

He’s opening it before he even settles, spooning up beside Kurt and rolling him so that he’s the big spoon and Kurt is nestled into his curves, the perfect joining of two puzzle pieces. He puts the tube aside and gently undresses Kurt, peeling away the layers with careful fingers and then setting them aside, neatly folded the way that he likes. Kurt doesn’t laugh, as he often used to—he just smiles, and kisses the corner of Blaine’s mouth.

“I missed that,” he says. “I missed everything. I was so stupid.”

“You were scared,” Blaine says, “Overwhelmed. Smothered. I get that now. I really do.”

Kurt kisses him, reaches for the lubricant, and then kisses him again, hotter, wetter. “Please?”

Blaine shrugs out of his shirt, and then shakes through Kurt helping him with his pants and underwear. Kurt twists around to look at his body, to kiss his collarbone and his chest and his nipples and his ribs, to ghost his mouth over his cock and balls.

“You are so handsome,” Kurt says, breathless and flushed. “I need to remind you of that more often.” The flush deepens. “I tried not to think about you when I—but I always ended up doing it.”

Blaine exhales, cupping Kurt’s face. “God, I want you so bad.”

“I’m yours,” Kurt says, staring at Blaine’s mouth. “Could you—hold me, and do it, like this?” He rolls over, presenting his back, and Blaine cups his waist and pulls their bodies together.

“Of course,” he says, kissing Kurt’s lovely, broad shoulders. He guides his cock to rest between Kurt’s cheeks, using the barest hint of sweat there to rub a little. Even sideways like this, he can see Kurt’s forehead crease, can see his eyebrows draw together. His belly rises with breath, and his ribs grow visible under Blaine’s palm.

He gets squirmy when Blaine takes too long with the lubricant, but Blaine soothes his bicep with kisses as his slick fingers find their destination.

“No fingers, just, just you, okay?”

“Okay, honey.” He can see Kurt’s wide, beaming smile.

“Missed you calling me sweet things when it’s just the two of us.”

“I always thought you kind of hated that.”

Kurt inhales suddenly when Blaine’s fingers swipe lubricant over and around his rim. “N-no. I just—felt awkward reciprocating. It always sounded so dumb when I did it.”

“It did not,” Blaine says, letting the pads of his fingers get Kurt wet. “That one time you called me ‘baby’ when I was—”

“Oh, god, that was the best blowjob ever.”

Blaine smiles. He puts his lips against Kurt’s earlobe. “It never sounded dumb.” He rubs the tip of his cock up and down Kurt’s crack, breathing faster with every pass. “And you make the most amazing noises when I tease you.” He lets the head settle against Kurt’s hole and rocks his hips, savoring every whimper and whine.

Kurt squeezes the arm that Blaine has around him, lacing their fingers together and moving against him. “I’m—good.”

Blaine isn’t sure if he’ll ever be ready for the gift of this again after so long, because it feels nothing like the fraught sex that they’d had in New York in that loft where everything had gone so spectacularly wrong. This feels like all of the joy of their earlier unions threaded together seamlessly with the progress that they’ve made as they’ve gotten older, a wonderful combination of sweet beginning and hard-earned present without the sourness of mid-story failure in between. It’s almost too much to bear.

As he slides into Kurt’s body, he remembers everything—the happiness, the despair, the disbelief when it had ended, the loneliness of those months he’d spent falling, and a completely different kind of loneliness when he’d gone on to spend time with someone who was a marvelous friend but could never be a true boyfriend because their pieces just never quite fit, and he’d missed Kurt more than he’d been happy to have seemingly convinced himself that he had moved on.

Kurt winds backwards around him, tangling their legs and hands and encouraging Blaine’s face to nuzzle into the back of his neck, just behind his jaw.

His body breaks out into a sweat. Kurt is shaky in his arms, and when he begins to ease in and out, waiting for that relaxation down Kurt’s spine that indicates comfort and pleasure, Kurt spits a broken whimper and begins to move into his thrusts. It’s like sex in an electric storm—the air is thick with ozone and an urgency that Blaine can’t pin down. He buries himself against Kurt and takes his time, making every thrust count.

He reaches down to fist Kurt’s cock, finding it hard as a rock and sticky at the tip.

Kurt only shakes harder. “I don’t want to come yet,” he says, putting his hand over Blaine’s.

Blaine licks sweat from the back of his neck and then says, chest-raspy, “I want to see your face. Can I be on top?”

“Oh god yes,” Kurt breathes.

He isn’t prepared for Kurt’s plum-flushed face or the evidence of tears on his cheeks but he recovers quickly, holding Kurt’s face in his hands and kissing him until he’s whimpering but settled beneath Blaine’s body. Blaine gently arranges Kurt’s legs over his shoulders, staring in awe at the rapt look on Kurt’s face, at the way his stomach and chest move, at the strength in his thighs and the soft hair on his calves.

Kurt winds his arms around Blaine’s neck and pulls him down, reaches between them and guides Blaine’s cock home. He bites his swollen bottom lip through the glide, sweat at his temples, and Blaine feels as if his body may fail to contain everything that he’s feeling right now. He doesn’t think that he’s ever seen Kurt this vulnerable, at least not since...possibly their first time.

Kurt closes his eyes and presses their forehead together. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, as Blaine’s body moves between his legs with measured precision. “I am so, so, so sorry, for not understanding what you needed, for pushing you away, for not being there when you needed someone… For not believing in us, in myself, in you...” Blaine tries to talk but Kurt just kisses him. “For coming back here and thinking I could get you back, like you were just waiting for me.” He gasps when Blaine hits the right spot, shivers making the hair on his arms stand up. Blaine kisses his forearm.

“I forgive you,” Blaine says, “please, just, be with me, okay, don’t—”

Kurt locks his ankles around Blaine’s lower back and pulls, writhing upward in time. “Harder—harder.”

Blaine sits up on his knees, dropping a kiss on the inside of Kurt’s thigh and sliding deep. He stays that way for as long as he can hold the position, fucking Kurt a little faster, a little rougher. Kurt closes his eyes, tilts his head and just breathes, holding Blaine’s waist. Their bodies jiggle with the motions, and Blaine becomes mesmerized by the bob of Kurt’s hair as he takes it. His face is soft with pleasure, almost transported, as if he’s remembering, too. Blaine wants to wonder if he’s had sex with anyone since they’ve been apart, but he can’t hold on to the thought, not with Kurt’s ass clamped up around him, not with Kurt’s body flushed and naked and moving beneath him, not with Kurt simply here, with him, wanting him, loving him—oh god, Kurt _loves_ him, Kurt is here because he’s ready for the rest of their life together…

Blaine gasps, sliding down, letting their bodies touch and his cock edge slightly out.

“Don’t stop,” Kurt says, breathless, his eyes snapping open. They’re wide and dark with arousal. “I was so close.”

“I love watching you come,” Blaine says, staring down at him. “Want you to come for me.” He takes Kurt’s cock in hand. “Just like this.” He twists low to kiss Kurt, savoring the eager press of his lips in return.

Kurt makes a noise, and tears well up at the corners of his eyes. “I love you. I love you. I love you—oh, oh, oh, there, there, s-shit, oh, god.” He twitches, goes rigid and then bucks up, sobbing, pushing his face against Blaine’s shoulder and soaking Blaine’s fingers with dribble after dribble of come. His ass pulses with the rush of his orgasm, making Blaine’s toes curl and then his balls cinch up.

“Oh, god, have to,” Blaine gasps.

“Yeah,” Kurt urges, rocking faster. “Yeah, yeah.”

Blaine comes with a strangled groan, clutching Kurt’s body.

“Stay,” Kurt says, stroking damp fingers through his hair and over his shoulders and back. “Stay in me. Want to sleep like this.”

Blaine can’t argue with that, so he eases himself down onto Kurt and closes his eyes. He wakes up fifteen minutes later to sticky but rapidly drying mess. He detaches himself with a grunt—Kurt is dead asleep, limbs flung out from his body, his hair a sex and bed-headed mess, his body streaked with marks and fingernail scratches, and a dried streak of come across his chest. He’s smiling even in sleep, no lines on his forehead or at the corners of his eyes.

Blaine stares at him for a very long time, smiling like a lunatic, and then finally manages to get out of bed. He gets a wet cloth, and then stops to order a pizza for delivery before going back to bed. He wakes Kurt up with the warm cloth to his chest. He intends to amuse Kurt by telling him that their entire exchange this afternoon had happened with the door to the apartment wide open when that beautiful face turns the full force of its glow at him and the words die in his throat.

“Oh,” Kurt says, blinking. “For a minute I thought—it was a dream.”

Blaine smiles, cleaning off Kurt’s belly and then his soft cock, loving the warm give of it. He moves lower, pushing in just a little to clean his come from Kurt’s body. Kurt blushes—and then his cock twitches and he just sprawls wider, smiling.

“Missed you taking care of me like this.”

“Same,” Blaine says. “I ordered pizza. And I have ice cream, if you want.”

“As long as we can eat it in bed.”

“Kurt—grease is nearly impossible to—”

Kurt just smiles. “Missed you being a bossy little ass.”

“Little?”

Kurt laughs, tugging Blaine down. “We’re going to eat pizza and ice cream in bed, Blaine Anderson. Just accept it.”

Blaine smiles. “I love you. I love you so much.” He fidgets, plays with the corner of a sheet, and looks away. “I know I can be compulsive and demanding and too much. But I’ve really been working on it—my therapist has taught me all of these coping techniques and ways to redirect my need to control when it’s harmful to myself or others.”

“Mine has been teaching me how to not shy away from sharing myself and my feelings and how to let people in. It’s—a lot, but I think I’m getting better.”

“We’re both doing kind of okay, aren’t we?”

Kurt smiles, tilting his head. Blaine can’t resist leaning down to kiss him. “Even better now.”

“So when you said you wanted me to go to the wedding with you…”

Laughing, Kurt laces their fingers, both hands. “You know what I meant.”

“In that case, my answer is yes.”

Kurt’s eyes flicker, go wide with adoration and relief and _oh god_ he’s so beautiful when he lets himself shine—he’s beautiful all of the time, but then there are moments like this that literally take Blaine’s breath away.

There’s a knock at the door, and they both exhale and laugh.

“If that’s someone else who has just jogged to confess their love for you, you’d better tell them to get lost or I will be very vexed, sir,” Kurt drawls, spreading out, naked and teasing and glorious.

“I will do just that,” Blaine says, “after I pay him for the pizza.”

They eat pizza in bed, as requested, but Blaine gets his way with the ice cream—that they eat in the kitchen, though Kurt insists on enjoying his strawberry ice cream naked and Blaine feels weird doing that, so he slips on a pair of underwear. He gets out his matching Star Wars Luke and Leia ice cream bowls and spoons—only to find Kurt with a spoon already in the pint of Haagen Daaz, grinning like a kid and licking ice cream off of his kiss-swollen lips.

Blaine’s traitorous penis makes its opinion known, despite his better judgement.

Kurt is almost dangerously sultry, licking spoonful after spoonful of sticky pink cream off of his spoon without taking his eyes off of Blaine’s naked chest and back and round ass.

“If I wasn’t so tapped out I would lick this off of you right now,” he says.

“ _Kurt Hummel_ ,” Blaine breathes, and then laughs and joins Kurt in sharing the pint.

When they’re done, Kurt puts their spoons in the sink and takes his hands. “Quick shower and then sleep?”

“Yes,” Blaine says. “I feel like I haven’t really slept in—so long.”

The shower is comical in its brevity and clinicalness. They put on underwear and t-shirts—his clothes fit Kurt badly in very delicious ways—and fall into bed. The carbs and fat on top of amazing sex are catching up with them, and they’re asleep before Blaine can open his mouth to complain—partially jokingly—about a grease stain he just found near the foot of the bed.

He wakes up four hours later from a coma-like sleep, feeling more rested than he has in months, and gets up to use the bathroom and tidy himself while Kurt snores like a buzzsaw, curled up on the right side of the bed as he prefers.

Blaine’s clean up gives him full-body tingles and an idea, and he brings the lubricant tube when he returns to bed, straddles Kurt’s hips, and begins stroking Kurt’s cock while he sleeps. They used to do this all of the time, and he isn’t surprised when Kurt smiles sleepily and comes awake.

“Mm, I feel that,” he drawls, reaching up to cup Blaine’s ass.

“Good evening, love,” Blaine says, right into the curve of that sweet, five o’clock shadow-covered jaw.

“Something I can do for you?”

“Get nice and hard,” Blaine says, sitting up and back, and uncapping the lubricant tube. “And lie back.” He’d quickly stretched himself in the bathroom, so all he needs is a handful of lubricant and Kurt’s cock standing up stiff and he’s good to go. It hasn’t been long since he’d had a cock in him last, but it might as well have been a century ago for how different the experiences are. Sitting down onto Kurt ticks every comfort requirement that he has. It’s perfect. It’s completion. It’s his, and it’s Kurt’s, and all of it is _theirs_.

“Oh my god,” Kurt moans, bending, his fingers kneading Blaine’s cheeks as they come down.

“ _Shit_ ,” Blaine hisses.

“Forgot how you felt—oh, god, the way you take me—”

“Don’t move, don’t move, just—okay, oh, god, Kurt, fuck me.”

It’s a flurry of upward thrusts, the soft smack of skin against skin, Blaine’s fingers digging into Kurt’s beautiful pectoral muscles while he bounces into the snap of Kurt’s hips, loving every plunge with hungry clamps of his ass. It’s back and forth for a while, but then Kurt lets Blaine take over, going still as Blaine rises and falls, rocks side to side and then back and forth to get Kurt just where he needs him. 

He doesn’t have a single self-conscious moment, as he used to in the past. The few passing comments that Kurt has made today have been enough to make him feel sexy, and he’s so happy, so joyful, so full of renewed hope that nothing is going to bring him down.

When he comes, spilling over Kurt’s knuckles, and Kurt follows him with an overwhelmed cry, it feels like losing an anchor that he hadn’t even realized had been holding him down. He trembles on his knees, breathing fast and heavy and at the same time laughing so hard that he feels his eyes go wet—his leg cramps and he giggles, sliding sideways off of Kurt.

“Oh my god,” he says, as Kurt sits up, probably worried that he’s hurt himself. But he just keeps giggling, sprawled out on his side, feeling as if his veins are full of champagne bubbles. “Oh my god.” He grabs Kurt’s hand. “I get to spend every day of the rest of my life feeling like this.”

Kurt laughs—and then his shoulders twitch and his chest hitches and tears fill his eyes.

“I didn’t mean to make you cry again, geez,” Blaine says, tugging him closer.

“I haven’t been happy in so long,” Kurt says. “I mean—I’ve had definite moments lately teaching the glee club, but this is—I mean deep down, three dimensional, everything is right with the world kind of happy—”

Blaine rolls over onto Kurt, presses him into the bed and kisses him until he is forced to stop to breathe. “We’re never going to be perfect. It’s never going to be perfect. But you know what? I don’t care anymore. I don’t even want perfect. I did, once. I thought it was what we had to be to make it. Now I see how stupid that was. It’s never perfect because working at it is what makes it worthwhile. I want that struggle. I want to fight beside you.”

“Me too,” Kurt says, high-pitched with excitement, his eyes sparkling, his dimples deep with smiling. “But I also—I want you to know that I do—” He takes a breath. “I do want to marry you. That night, you asked me if I did and I said that maybe I didn’t and you—how you broke when I said that, god, I couldn’t even _look_ at you. I knew how badly I hurt you with those words. So I want you to know right now that I do. I don’t know when or how. I don’t even think I want it to be the huge deal we used to talk about—but I do want it.”

“All that matters is that we decide together,” Blaine says, kissing Kurt’s forehead. “I don’t need you to marry me to prove anything anymore. I think—I think that’s what it was before, in New York, for me. I mean, I wanted to be married to you. I always have. But it wasn’t just about that. And when we do it, I want it to be about us. Just us. And the way we feel about each other.”

“I do, too,” Kurt says, holding him closer, tighter, and he feels so reassured, and oh, god, it’s incredible.

“Who knows, maybe we’ll even find the barn in Indiana locale inspiring.”

Kurt laughs and kisses him. “Okay now that? That’s just crazy.”

“Yeah,” Blaine says, smiling at the ceiling, Kurt wound skin-soft and sweet all around him. “I guess you’re right.”


End file.
